


head above the water

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drowning, Kissing, M/M, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're underwater, your first instinct is to hold your breath. Your lungs know they can't get air, so your body forces you to swim; you scramble for the oxygen you desperately need, floundering underneath the waves. If you can't breathe, you'll drown. If you drown, you die.</p><p>At least, that's the way it's supposed to be.</p><p>In which Oikawa saves Iwaizumi many, many times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	head above the water

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was not supposed to exist, and without the massive help of the wonderful, amazing Ella (@lala-writes on tumblr) it probably would never have even been started, let alone finished. I wanted cute underwater kissing; it turned into a Mermaid AU.
> 
> This fic was co-plotted and co-written by Ella, so half the credit has to go to her! Thank you my friend, I couldn't be happier with the way this little story has turned out!
> 
> (Fun fact: Ella has never even seen Haikyuu!!, but I've turned her into Iwaoi trash just like me.)

Harsh wind lashes his face, invisible claws leaving deep scratches upon any bare skin it can reach. The night air is chilled and unforgiving. Hajime shudders in his loose clothes, regretting not having been able to grab his coat from below before the entire crew came pouring up on deck. There had been so little time, so much confusion; the only thing anyone had really known was that the ship was in trouble.

The ship _is_ in trouble, caught in the center of a storm it can’t escape. Sea brine whips through the air, drenching the crew as they rush manic about the deck. Everyone has a job; everyone knows what they should be doing, but the tension in the air is thick enough to drown in and the crew are under the influence of panic. This isn’t helped by the tossing of the ship through choppy waters, or the harsh outcropping of rocks just ahead of them, rising up like a colossus out of the dark water.

This isn't their destination, Hajime is certain. He doesn’t know what sort of island this is, but it doesn’t look like the Yokohama harbor they had meant to dock at. He doesn’t know where they are, and somehow he doubts the rest of the crew have a better idea.

He inhales a deep breath, winding up with a mouthful of seawater as a wave crashes over the deck. He fights the urge to choke, muscles straining as his palms burn from the rope in his hands. He needs to keep pulling, keep the jib trim while the crew worked to tack the ship to port. If the ship doesn’t turn, they’ll crash, and then they’ll all be doomed.

The cacophony of shouts around him are almost as chaotic as the thrashing waters themselves. Dozens of men rush across the deck, desperate to get into their positions even as he begins to feel the ship tilt under him. They’re turning, and that sends a jolt of relief through his bones. Off a collision course with death, they only need to navigate out of the storm. As long as they turn in time --

Someone glances him, a sharp hit to the shoulder as they rush by. He catches only a flash of their face as he stumbles back, feet scrabbling for purchase on the sea-slick deck.

“Tacking!” The skipper shouts, echoed by the crew as they hear the familiar warning.

The boom swings. Hajime turns. He sees it coming straight at him, but he is a second too slow.

He does not feel impact, does not feel the rush of wind pass him or the lurch of his stomach as he plunges over the rail. He is only aware of sudden immersion into water that bites at his skin, the shock jolting him back into full consciousness. His first instinct is to gasp; the water fills his mouth, pressing down his throat and he _chokes_ as his lungs flood.

A lifetime spent swimming in the sea floods back to him at once as he kicks out, powerful legs propelling him to where he hopes is the surface. He is fighting the urge to cough the entire way up, throat burning. In what little light there is, he catches sight of a small cloud of darker water trailing him. He can only assume, from the ache in his head, that it is blood.

He breaks the surface of the water, a needed rush of air flooding his lungs as he hacks and sputters. Eyes opening and focusing for the first time, the only thing he sees is his ship -- turning away from him. They turn from the rocks, away from death, and at the same time leave one of their sailors condemned.

There is no chance to scream. His lungs burn and he chokes, sputtering viciously as he gags up a lungful of seawater. He barely has time to inhale again before another wave washes over his head, the undertow dragging him back down. The rush of pressure leaves his vision blacking out for another second. As water floods over him, he does not feel himself sinking so much as he knows he is.

He gives another weak kick, straining to fight, but he cannot swim. His body has been turned to stone. He does not think he has ever felt this heavy in the water in his life; his limbs drag like they are weighted down, moving in slow motion even as he continues to sink. His head reverberates with pang after pang of sharp pain, scattering his thoughts like shards of glass. He cannot open his eyes without his vision swimming, and even then everything is dark. There is no swimming upwards anymore -- he doesn’t know which way up is. His throat aches from swallowed seawater. His lungs _burn_.

 _He’s drowning._ The realization does not shock him as much as it should, because he’d known it even before he could put it into words. He can’t swim up; there is nowhere to go but down, into the dark, bottomless depths that will swallow up his corpse until the end of the world.

The second he feels something grab him -- some _thing_ , not someone, because it is not a human’s long, cold fingers twining around his ankle -- he finds his fight again. Thrashing weakly against the intruder, he feels a grip claw up his legs, dragging him further beneath the surface. Hands run over his thighs, his _ass_ , before one hand settles on the small of his back and pulls him tight while the other reaches to the nape of his neck to cradle his head.

For one second he swears it must be those spirits of the water his grandmother used to weave tales about -- stories of old gods dooming men, of how women on ships summoned storms, and of creatures that followed fishermen’s ships just to sink them for an easy meal. Then he opens his eyes, and sees the blurry shape of a boy.

Dark eyes shining like glass bear into him -- the only clear thing he can make out. The boy’s skin is eerily pale in the chilled water. Hajime can barely make out the pale blue patches _(scales?)_ centered across the bridge of his nose like freckles. They seem to glow in the dark water and Hajime’s eyes lock on them as if they are the only thing that exist.

His eyes widen as the boy leans in, but he has neither the energy or the time to pull away before lips are suddenly being pressed to his.

The boy’s lips are slimy and cold as his wandering fingers were, but even more forceful. He pries Hajime’s mouth open with a thumb and forefinger pressed to either cheek before returning his hand to the back of Hajime’s neck. His head is pounding too much for him to fight back, but he is able to seize hold of the boy’s shoulders as he pulls him closer. When a sudden breath of air floods his lungs, pushed into him by the boy whose lips are locked on his, he doesn’t hesitate before blowing it out his nose. It’s instinct. He is desperate for air; and the boy kissing him gives it to him again.

Air floods his lungs, and he breathes it out through his nose, only to be filled with another breath. The cycle goes on; and gradually, the panic that had settled into Hajime’s limbs gives way into a sedate sort of calm. His head is still pounding, and his body feels heavy, but they are no longer sinking. They are floating.

Hajime’s eyes close, and he can feel his body rise up more and more -- buoyed by a force that isn’t his. He is clutched tight to a muscular chest, practically cradled in the arms of the person who has saved his life. As terror leaves him and his thoughts become vaguely more lucid, he becomes aware of the tiredness seeping through his veins.

He has a head injury, and is probably suffering from shock. With his fight gone, he feels sleepy; pillowed as he is in the other man’s arms it’s easy for his eyes to begin to droop. He doesn’t want to pass out, but it’s hard to stay awake…

A sharp pinch to the arm startles him, and he involuntarily inhales through his nose. He is sent sputtering again, breaking the kiss as he chokes on water and inhales more into his lungs. The embrace breaks in favor of a steel grip on his hand, and suddenly they’re moving fast -- rocketing towards the surface, Hajime being dragged in his savior’s wake. Before they can break the surface Hajime looks up, and what he sees causes his blood to run colder than the ice water around him.

The “boy” dragging him does not have legs. Attached to the lower half of his body is a sleek tail, like that of a fish.

A fish’s tail. His savior is a _fish_.

It’s suddenly far too much to take in at once. Hajime’s head spins; his vision goes dark. He’s not sure whether he passes out before or after they break the surface of the water.

* * *

The first thing he registers as consciousness slowly comes back to him again is that he is no longer in the water. Coarse sand digs into his bare skin; the surface against his back is hard and slick.

This is all he has the chance to register before he is suddenly lurching to the side, heaving up a stomach full of sea water. His throat burns, scraped raw by the acid and salt; shoulders trembling, he slumps back against the wall and groans at the sharp ache in his head. It hurts -- it hurts more than he can say, and he knows immediately that he must have a concussion.

Determinedly not glancing down at the copper that now stains his white shirt, he takes more care examining his environment. He finds himself surrounded by walls of gray and black, criss-crossed by shafts of pale light filtering in from the ceiling. It can only be a sea cave -- dim light filters through the water lapping the ground of the cave, and he realizes this cavern must have been concealed in the rocks they almost ran aground on.

He won’t be able to survive here for long. Cold seeps into his bones even as he lies motionless, causing him to tremble and goosebumps to prick along his arms. Letting out a shuddering sigh, Hajime feels the burn in his lungs, and can’t help but wince. He needs fresh water; he needs food; he needs a way to stay warm. He needs his _ship_ to come _back_.

For the moment, he can’t focus on anything he needs past the foggy drowsiness clouding his head. All he wants now is rest; sleep is a siren song, a lure he does not have the strength or power to resist. Carefully, he lowers himself back down in the sand and lets the sound of the water rolling against the rocks lull him into the grips of sleep once again.

* * *

The next thing Hajime knows, the cave is suddenly a lot brighter. Where pale slivers of light had been during the night, full on sunbeams now reflect against the rocks, forcing his eyes closed almost as soon as they open. His mouth is painfully dry, his head is being pillowed, and something is tugging gently on his hair.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and he turns on his side to hide part of his face from the sunlight. The surface under his cheek pokes at him if he brushes it the wrong way, but otherwise it feels smooth and warm. As he opens his eyes again, he squints against the light to see the sun reflected off dazzling blue and green half-moons. Reaching out, his hand slides along the mysterious surface -- smooth, he thinks, and sticky in a way that makes his lips curl. They remind him of scales; in fact, they bear such resemblance to scales that he cannot resist the urge to give one a sharp yank.

His actions are met with a yelp, followed by a hiss and a harsh tug on his hair. He cranes his neck up to look at the source of the attack before sitting up quickly and scrambling back along the sand. The scaly hide belongs to the boy from last night -- the ocean spirit who had saved Hajime’s life.

He’d sworn he was hallucinating; but now, in living color, it is impossible to deny the existence of his savior -- or the long, sleek aquamarine tail that forms the lower half of his body. Wide-eyed, he stares; the spirit blinks back at him with the same dark eyes that had studied him while he was drowning the night before.

“Oh,” Hajime says.

“Oh,” the Spirit echoes back.

This is enough on it’s own; what really concerns Hajime is the sudden feeling of wetness at the top of his head, where the Spirit’s fingers had just been running through his hair. He brings his hand up and picks out a clump of seaweed, along with no small amount of slime. He can’t help but grimace.

“What the hell did you do to my hair?” Hajime demands, turning on the Spirit with a harsh glower. He blinks back at him, unaffected.

“My hair!” he replies, looking pointedly at the seaweed in Hajime’s hand.

“No. _My_ hair. _Your_ crap. What the hell?”

“What the hell,” says the Spirit, words tumbling awkwardly out of his mouth. Hajime blinks, frowns, and leans back against the rock once more. The look on the Spirit’s face is nothing short of smug. It’s obvious that he has absolutely no comprehension of what he just said, but is really proud to have said it anyway.

“You... don’t speak Japanese, do you?” Hajime mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you?” echoes back the Spirit. The way the pale boy pinches his own nose probably isn't meant to be mocking, but the bright gleam in his eye makes it hard to take it any other way.

The spirit leans dangerously close and peers in disdain at Hajime's hair before spitting a thick mouthful of slime onto his hand and smearing it back on Hajime's head. His victim’s disgusted shout goes ignored.

“My hair.” The spirit says triumphantly.

Hajime hates him already.

* * *

“What the hell is this?”

He looks so, so stupidly proud. “Food.”

“I said I needed food, dumbass, not --” Hajime picks through the array in front of him with a disturbed look on his face. There are a lot of things; the Spirit hadn't been lazy. Yet there definitely isn't anything he can eat. “Wood. Seaweed. A dead fish -- the hell can I do with a dead fish? I can't eat that, I'll get _worms!”_

“Dead fish,” echoes the Spirit, pointing at the carcass that lies wide-eyed on the sand. He picks it up with his bare hands, flopping it proudly in Hajime’s face. His lips curl in disgust as he recoils, trying not to gag at the sightless eyes boring into him.

“Cut it out!” He refuses to believe the Spirit doesn't know he was being a brat. He knows, he _definitely_ knows.

Blinking, wide-eyed and innocent, the Spirit drops the fish back to the cave floor again. For a moment Hajime actually thinks he's given up, until he scoops up a clump of seaweed from the ground and turns towards him again.

“No. Oh, hell no, _no_ , stay away from me --” Hajime is scrambling backwards, but there's nowhere to run; the Spirit easily pulls himself out of the water, dragging along the ground with surprising speed. Hajime’s back hits the wall and the spirit advances, hand outstretched, a benevolent grin upon his lips.

“No,” Hajime hisses again, burying his face in his arm. The Spirit gets up close and personal, tugging at his arm and trying to get him to reveal his mouth again. Even as Hajime snarls, writhing and spitting out curses, he is persistent; to him, it seems to be one big game. Hajime finds out the hard way that the spirit is strong. Within seconds his arm has been pulled away and chin forced up to allow the Spirit access to his mouth.

Just as the Spirit is about to push the seaweed into his mouth, Hajime suddenly rears forward and sinks his teeth in -- _hard_ , right into the meaty part of his hand. The Spirit lets out a sharp howl and jumps back, clutching his hand in pain. The seaweed goes flying, splashing into the water somewhere behind them. When he looks back at Hajime, the Spirit’s glare is so fierce one would think the human had just cut his fin off.

“You deserved that,” Hajime snarls, and the spirit says nothing. Instead, sulking, he slips back into the water and vanishes from view. Hajime stares after him for a long moment before sighing, squeezing his eyes shut and drawing his knees to his chest.

Regret doesn’t really begin to dawn on him until time passes -- hours, perhaps, spent alone in the cave with a growling stomach and no sign of the spirit. Hajime can’t quell the anger rising in his chest, at himself and his own situation. He is helpless; he hates being helpless. For as long as he is injured in this cave, the fact remains -- he is still hungry, thirsty, and alone. There’s no way out of here that he can see, no way for him to be self-sufficient; as much as it pains him, he is entirely reliant on the Spirt’s mercy. Sure, his savior is a royal pain in the ass, but if it wasn't for his efforts Hajime would not have survived to see morning.

If he vanishes, Hajime is as good as dead.

Hours pass; day slips into night, pale moonlight replacing the sun that filters through the pool of water. Hajime paces on his feet, anxiety beginning to get the better of him. If his savior doesn’t return by morning, he will have no choice but to try and swim out of the cave -- or perhaps find a way out through the openings in the rocks above. His head injury still leaves him woozy, but the need for fresh water is what’s driving him to distraction. Without water, without food, he won’t survive for much longer.

What if the clueless spirit has abandoned him? The thought filters unbidden into Hajime’s agitated mind. In the tales his grandmother told, Spirits were emotional beings; intensely vengeful one moment and affectionate the next. If the stories hold truth, there is an equal chance that the Spirit has deserted him out of spite or is caring enough to try and find some food that he won’t refuse.

Huddled up in the cave, things are looking progressively bleaker. Hajime squeezes his eyes shut, and is just considering trying to get to sleep for the night when he heard a sudden splash.

“Hey!” he exclaims, scrambling to the water’s edge before the Spirit can draw back into the depths again. There doesn't seem to be much danger of that; even in the darkness it’s easy to make out the beaming grin etched on his fine-boned face. He's proud of something again, and Hajime can only feel weary.

“I thought you weren't coming back,” he admits, somewhat sheepish. “Did you bring food?”

“Food!” the Spirit affirms, nodding eagerly. He ducks under water and struggles to haul out what appears to be a big ball of fisherman’s netting; upon further inspection Hajime realizes it is a makeshift bag. It is full to the point of overflowing -- _full of clams._

“Holy… whoa,” he mutters, staring at the array with wide eyes. “Did you get all these yourself?”

The Spirit can’t understand him, but he’s obviously proud of his catch. He pushes it towards Hajime and the human doesn’t hesitate, breaking the first clam shell open with all the ravenousness of a starving man. He doesn’t worry about rationing -- it’s clear there is enough food here to feed him for days.

Once he has eaten enough to feel full and sated -- a definite relief, considering his fears of starvation just hours ago -- Hajime finds his earlier tension fading away. The Spirit isn't as company, really, as long as he's not actually… saying anything. Or doing anything, for that matter. He's good company as long as he's there -- having him around, Hajime finds, is much more preferable to being alone in the dark.

He lets out a sigh, lounging back against the rock wall. One hand skims the surface of the water, where the Spirit is peacefully floating nearby. Hajime can't help but frown -- somehow, referring to the person he owes his life to as “the Spirit” is starting to sound a bit tired, not to mention ungrateful. “Say, what's your name, anyway?”

The Spirit makes a soft humming noise in a tone Hajime recognizes as confusion. He sighs, splashing the water slightly before pointing to himself. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

He looks pointedly at the Spirit, repeating his name a few times for emphasis. It takes him a few minutes to get it, but once the Spirit gets it, he won't shut up.

“Iwa-zee! Hajime! Iwa! _Iwa!_ Hajime!”

His voice babbling reminds Hajime of water running over a brook. There's something distinctly charming about it; but it's also more than a little annoying to listen to his own name being mangled over and over, while he still doesn't know the Spirit’s. ”Now, _you!”_ Hajime says, jabbing his finger at the delighted Spirit. “What's your name? Oi, Fish-chan, shut up! What's your name?”

He stops; blinks for a moment; and then grins widely. “Fish-chan,” he mouths, breathing the words in a reverent whisper. Just as quickly as it had cut off, his happy sing-songing resumes. “Fish-chan! Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!”

Hajime feels ready to explode.

“You! Bastard, I mean you! What’s _your_ name?”

The Spirit mimics the action of pointing at himself, blinking as if surprised. Hajime tries to swallow back the next litany of swear words threatening to burst from his throat as he settles a glare on the Spirit instead, even when his eyes light up in understanding.

“Oikawa.”

“Oikawa? That’s your name?”

Nodding eagerly in understanding, Oikawa ducks shortly underwater to perform what Hajime can only suppose is a delighted flip. He can’t really tell; all he can really see it the end of Oikawa’s tail, fan-like aquamarine fin swishing through the water. When Oikawa surfaces again, dark hair plastered to his forehead, his smile is so bright that it almost hurts Hajime’s eyes. The scales across his nose don’t shine the same way they did underwater, but even they seem to sparkle with the force of Oikawa’s pleasure.

 _He’s beautiful,_ Hajime thinks at once, thought infiltrating his mind before he can stop it. Oikawa is beautiful, from his fine features, shining dark eyes, slim figure, the graceful tail that pushes him through the water with such ease...

He is entrancing. He is exactly a creature from the fables Hajime was raised on, and for a moment Hajime finds himself impossibly captivated by the being in front of him.

Then Oikawa’s large eyes catch on Hajime’s, and he suddenly feels unbearably exposed. He turns away quickly, pretending to count clam shells. Anything to keep such traitorous thoughts out of his head.

He can not afford to become fascinated with his savior. He needs to find his way home.

* * *

_“Wa-ter,”_ Hajime enunciates, gesturing towards the water lapping at the cave floor. Oikawa blinks at him for a moment before suddenly lashing out and splashing him.

Hajime lets out a shout, recoiling backwards. “Oi! Not like that, bastard! To drink!”

Does Oikawa even know what drinking is? It occurs to Hajime with a jolt that he doesn’t know. He doubts the spirit would have any reason to drink when he literally lives in the ocean. If anything, he drinks sea water -- that is distinctly not an option for Hajime. He needs fresh water or else he knows he won’t survive for much longer, and Oikawa…

Has no clue what he’s talking about. The water spirit’s face remains blank as Hajime mimes drinking; when he splashes the water, Oikawa splashes back, thinking it’s a game. Hajime spits out another curse as sea water burns his eyes, and recoils.

He needs to switch tactics. Where can they find fresh water when they have no access to land, and they’re in the middle of the ocean?

 _Rain._ The solution is so obvious that he could laugh out loud, and for a second he actually does. Oikawa tilts his head quizzically as Hajime turns back to him, a new brightness in his expression.

“Rain! I can drink rain water, if it would just rain! It’s gotta rain soon! Do you have anything to collect the rain with?”

Oikawa blinks at him, struggling to understand. He’s been picking up Hajime’s language through imitation, but talking to him is still as effective as talking at a baby. “Rain?” he echoes, testing out the word on his tongue. When he makes a face, Hajime supposes he’s decided he doesn’t like the way it sounds.

That’s fine. Oikawa doesn’t need to like the rain -- he just needs to bring it to him.

“Yeah! You know, comes from the sky. Water --” (That’s a word Oikawa has to know, if he must know anything at all.) “From the sky.” Hajime makes raining gestures with his hands; Oikawa’s sharp eyes trail them as they drift to the ground, and Hajime suddenly feels foolish. This is like entertaining a child, and he really doubts they’re getting anywhere. Oikawa just doesn’t understand.

“Rain,” Oikawa says again. Hajime nods.

“Yeah. I can drink it.” He mimes drinking again, and suddenly Oikawa’s eyes light up.

That’s… a good thing, probably, or so Hajime hopes. He can’t imagine how Oikawa understanding something could be bad; but then again, Oikawa has shown a habit of getting into strange situations, least of all winding up looking after a stranded human. For all he knows, the other boy could have misunderstood altogether. When Oikawa suddenly ducks under the water, one powerful flick of his sleek tail the only thing he leaves behind, Hajime almost thinks he’s right.

Then he hears something outside -- the rolling cry of thunder.

“Yes! Hell yes!” Hajime crows to the cave’s ceiling, as the patter of rain against rock begins to echo around him.

When Oikawa reemerges shortly after, Hajime knows he isn't imagining the inexplicable turquoise glint in his eyes. Hajime can feel the spirit’s stare burning his back; he ignores it.

That night, he pretends not to notice Oikawa has slept curled up on the sand instead of floating in the water.

* * *

Days slips into nights, one after the other, in a seemingly endless cycle. Hajime tries to keep track of time; he loses count around the fourth sunrise.

It takes a lot of sleep and a lot of water for the ache in his head to even start to feel better. He knows concussions don’t go away easily; after getting hit with the boom, he’s thankful that's all he made off with. By all rights, he should be dead -- either bludgeoned or drowned.

Thankfully his savior seems ever-forthcoming with his generosity. Hajime is almost baffled by how easily Oikawa opens up. After sharing names with each other, the spirit seems to have become more enthusiastic than ever. He brings Hajime food with a glowing sort of pride, he provides water, and he looks after Hajime far better than he ever could have done on his own.

Hajime just doesn’t understand him.

Why would a water spirit -- a creature of myth and legend, some of whom are on par with the _gods_ \-- take an interest in him? He’s never done a single extraordinary thing; his life, spent fishing by the seaside and sailing trading vessels, has been comfortably dull. Yet when Hajime fell, Oikawa saved him -- and he still doesn’t understand why.

Maybe it’s a fixation, Hajime thinks. Maybe the weirdo just has some sort of fetish for the human world, learning about it and implementing himself into it. It is impossible not to notice the vigor with which Oikawa goes about learning Hajime’s language, the fascination that dances in sharp eyes at whatever foreign thing Hajime does. He wants -- so obviously -- to understand the boy he’s saved, and Hajime would be lying if he said he isn't curious as well.

“Why do you do that?” he asks one day, maybe a week since Oikawa first brought rain. Oikawa looks up, baffled.

“What?”

It’s hard to tell whether Oikawa’s question is out of genuine confusion or just not understanding Hajime’s words -- he chose to take it as the latter.

“That,” Hajime clarified, leaning close and poking the hand that ran smoothly along Oikawa’s sleek pale blue tail. The spirit drew back as if Hajime’s touch had shocked him, wide eyed. “You keep running your hands over your tail, and playing with that fin of yours. What are you doing?”

Oikawa shrugs and bares both palms to Hajime's inspection. He’s shocked to find them glistening with water droplets. “My tail gets dry,” Oikawa explains, as if this wasn't at all out of the ordinary. “Water helps.”

Hajime blinks, once, twice, honestly not sure what to make of this -- the fact that Oikawa can produce water from his hands is weird, but not nearly as strange as the whole summoning rainstorms thing, or being able to breathe underwater. Hell, the tail was weirder than all of that combined, and Hajime has gotten over that quickly enough.

 _Oikawa_ is weird. There’s no way around it. He is also obnoxious, a total pest who relishes teasing Hajime at every turn. By the fifth time Hajime has to bat away too-curious hands exploring the shape of his ears or the teeth in his mouth (Oikawa’s ears are much more like fins, and his teeth are sharper than Hajime deems safe) he’s well past annoyed, and Oikawa seems absolutely delighted with each reaction he garners.

“Iwa-chan’s red,” he remarks lightly, and Hajime feels his eye twitch.

“I’ll make _you_ black and blue, you little --”

“Black and blue,” Oikawa chimes (still not over the habit of echoing Hajime) as he deftly swims across the cave with just a swish of his tail. Hajime fights down the irritation swelling inside him, and instead sends a well-aimed splash Oikawa’s way that makes the spirit shriek.

In spite of everything -- the idiocy, the teasing, the _tail_ \-- Hajime finds that he genuinely does like Oikawa. Every day he learns much more about the person who saved him, and the more he learns the more he finds he wants to know.

When he creates a tiny dancing figure made of crystalline water, Hajime discovers that Oikawa can control water with his hands. When the sound of light, melodic humming fills the cave, Hajime finds himself unable to tear his attention away.

When he is allowed to touch Oikawa’s own face in return for giving the spirit leeway to explore his, he's afraid that he might have accepted the offer too eagerly; Oikawa seems startled as Hajime cups his face. He runs his thumb gently over the spirit’s cheek, entranced once more by the luminescent spots that glowed in the cave’s dim light; he traces the boy’s sharp jawline and before he can stop himself he finds his thumb gently dragging across Oikawa’s bottom lip. The spirit's eyes had drifted closed, completely trusting in Hajime, who snaps out of his state as soon as he feels the spirit’s lips twitch into a smile. He pulls his hand back, disgusted with himself and Oikawa leans forward slightly, eyes still closed, searching for the lost touch.

“I'm sorry,” he says. Oikawa stares at him, head cocked to the side in bafflement.

“Iwa-chan touch,” Oikawa says softly. “Face. Iwa-chan’s face…” He points to Hajime, tapping his finger lightly against his cheek, before pulling back with a satisfied expression. Then, gently, he takes Hajime’s hand up in his. “My face,” he says, and gently runs Hajime’s fingers once again over the scaled across his nose.

They don't feel flaky; not like dried skin, nothing Hajime could brush away if he tried. The scales feel strong and smooth, as naturally a part of Oikawa as the strong tail making up the lower half of his body.

“I want to know your story,” Hajime mutters, the words slipping from his mouth before he can think twice. Oikawa’s eyes widen, and Hajime’s face automatically flushes as he turns away.

For a moment, Oikawa is quiet. Then he says, in a firm tone, “Story! Iwa-chan tell a story!”

“Huh? What do you want to hear a story from me for?”

“Iwa-chan talks,” Oikawa explains, as if it should be obvious. In retrospect, it probably is -- Oikawa doesn't have the language skills necessary to tell Hajime where he comes from yet. At the very least, Hajime can give him his tale.

“O- okay,” he mutters, trying to ignore the flush he knows has to be spreading across his face. “Fine. Just a warning -- I'm not a very good storyteller.”

* * *

 

 _Once upon a time_ (“Iwa-chan, that's stupid!” “Shut up! I said I was bad at this!”) _there was a little boy who grew up by the sea._

_This boy did not come from a large family. He had a mother, a father, and a little sister; as the only son, he took his responsibilities very seriously. Before he was old enough to cast a fishing rod, his father had taught him how to dig for clams and oysters on the sandbar during low tide. Swimming came to him with all the ease of breathing. He was, as his mother liked to tease him, a true “son of the sea”._

_On the day of his mother’s birthday, Hajime had a grand plan. He wanted to get her a pearl. Before the sun rose he snuck off to the beach and began to dig for oysters, not a soul knowing he was gone. He was not afraid to be alone. After all, he had never felt frightened of the sea in his life._

_The tide was low when he began to dig, but it steadily rose without him noticing. Until it was too late, that is -- a wave knocked him off his feet and dragged him through the sand of the shole before dumping him into the deeper water. Hajime had not seen it coming. There had been no chance to react, no flash of fear as he saw it rise, only utter panic as he suddenly found himself in water over his head with his feet scrambling to find solid ground._

_He had been taught how to swim in the still tide pools, but he moved awkwardly. He struggled against the tide-driven waves, but it was hopeless. Kicking out frantically and clawing at the water, he only succeeded in dragging himself down deeper._

_The water was over his head. Hajime, submerged underwater, found that he could neither swim up or down. Panic paralyzing his limbs, he began to sink; down, down, the light of the water above him slowly slipping from view. Eyes wide open, the little boy was convinced he was about to drown._

_That was when he saw him. The moment Hajime spotted the little boy peeking out from behind a rock, he knew there was no way he could be human. His skin was translucent underwater; his ears pressed against the side of his face, webbed and trilled; and the pale blue tail that perfectly formed his lower half propelled him through the water when he swam out to move closer to Hajime._

_The drowning boy should have been afraid. He was not. On sheer instinct he reached out to the stranger, and the stranger reached back._

_When Hajime’s head broke the surface of the water, fingers digging desperately into the sand of the shole beneath him, he found himself crying. When he looked around for his savior, the boy with the tail was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished back into the sea._

* * *

“Was that you?”

Oikawa nods solemnly.

“I thought it was.” Rough, untrimmed fingernails dig into the palm of Hajime’s hand as he examines the sand beneath him. “I looked for you, you know. Afterwards. Somehow I always thought I'd get to see you again… stupid, isn't it?” He huffs softly, shaking his head. “I'd always ask my grandmother for stories about the sea spirits… I even became a sailor just so I could be closer to… you, I guess.”

Baring his soul in this way makes Hajime feel amazingly vulnerable. He does not like to be split open and read like a book; he does not like lowering his defenses. Somehow Oikawa, this person who he barely knows yet has known all his life, is able to look into the deepest parts of him with ease. Hajime is terrified. Hajime is awestruck.

“I remembered Iwa-chan. Always,” Oikawa mutters, his broken Japanese struggling to convey the brevy of emotions inside. “Looked for humans, learned humans… for Iwa-chan. Always remembered Iwa-chan.”

Hajime huffs out a breathless laugh, suddenly feeling giddy. “I wasn't the only one, then. Thank god.”

Oikawa hangs his head, hand twitching as if he wants to reach out to Hajime once more. He stops himself just in time, teeth digging into the rosy flesh of his lower lip. He obviously has something on his own mind, and Hajime thinks he knows what it is. Oikawa wants to tell his story.

What does Hajime know about Oikawa now? Not much at all. For all he’s struggled to learn about him, Hajime knows very little about Oikawa’s life outside of the times that he pulled him from the sea.

“My… family,” Oikawa began, struggling to articulate but stubbornly refusing to let Hajime cut in. “My family wanted you drowned. Mad I saved you.”

Hajime’s eyes widened, even as Oikawa’s gaze dropped to the sand in shame. “Didn’t care. Learned magic, wanted to walk, wanted to be best!” Oikawa frowned. “Never best, never for long. Others were always there… others were better. Had to be better than them. So I go away, be best on my own! Alone, all alone. See humans on boats and follow. See boats... _die_ on rocks and waves! Can't save humans until…”

He finally looks back at Hajime.

“Until Iwa-chan.”

* * *

Hajime knows that he can’t stay.

He is the only son of his family, and he bears that burden with the knowledge of the responsibility that falls to him. He has to get back to his family -- his aging parents; his little sister, not yet out of school; his grandmother. They must think he’s dead.

He doesn’t know how he can get home. His first step, he supposes, will be making it to land; that’s easier said than done. Hajime has no clue where he is, or how far off from their destinated port the ship had strayed. Without that knowledge he’s basically reliant on chance, and he knows he can’t swim all the way to shore without help.

There’s only one help he could get, and somehow he doubts Oikawa is that eager to let him go.

He’s not sure how or why, but at some point Oikawa obviously convinced himself that having Hajime with him now means he has him forever. It seems it hasn’t occurred to him that Hajime can’t live off of shellfish and rainwater forever; he can’t spend the rest of his life sitting in a cave, muscles deteriorating and body turning to the sand beneath him.

He needs to get home, and he needs Oikawa’s help to do it.

“I have to go,” he finally says, maybe two weeks since being pulled from the water. “I have to go home.”

Oikawa’s head jerks up, eyes wide and teeth bared in what isn’t quite a snarl. He looks more stunned than angry, but that changes as he takes in Hajime’s face and realizes his solemnity belies no trace of joking. That’s when Oikawa’s face darkens, like stormclouds moving in on a crystalline sky.

“Why?” he demands, words cool but burning just below the surface. “I saved Iwa-chan. Why does he want to leave?”

“Because I can’t stay!” Hajime exclaims, stopping his pacing for just a second to round on Oikawa. Hajime paces a lot these days -- one of the only ways, besides exercising, to keep himself in shape and keep boredom at bay. “I have a _family_ , Oikawa, and a home. I don’t belong cooped up in a cave for the rest of my life!”

“Iwa-chan stays with me!”

“How can you say that?”

“How can _you_ leave me alone?”

And there it is. It hits Hajime like a blow to the chest, a lightning bolt, a punch -- Oikawa had lost his pod, and spent his days wandering in solitude until he’d found Hajime. If he loses Hajime, that means he would be forced to return to the days of being alone.

Hajime knows without having to consider it that Oikawa will not be able to let him go; and he can never forget Oikawa.

“Can -- can you --” He flounders, suddenly finding _himself_ the one without words. Surely there must be a better way. “You can use magic. You can walk on land?”

Oikawa regards him silently.

“I said I wanted to, Iwa-chan,” he replies. “Not that I _could_.”

Hajime feels his heart sink, a hollowness settling in his chest. If Oikawa can’t join him, and he can’t leave him behind…

Could he leave him behind?

“We’ll work something out. We’ll figure out a way, you can use your magic, I can visit you every day -- we don’t have to be apart. I swear. Oikawa, we can --”

The sound of a splash suddenly catches Hajime off guard. When he spins around, he finds the place where Oikawa was sitting upon the sand vacant; the water still ripples from where he dove in and vanished. Hajime radiates with shock and hurt, but he knows better than to try to go after him. Oikawa will not return because he begs him to.

Oikawa does not return for the rest of that day. That night brings the storm.

Hajime seizes the opportunity of privacy to wash himself under the steady stream of water pouring from a crack in the cave ceiling. When he's satisfied that he is clean, he redresses and resumes his worried pacing. He is still reliant on Oikawa; he is almost out of food, entirely out of water, and while he could be capable of swimming to land he does not know how far it is or if he would survive the journey.

(Not to mention the idea of never seeing Oikawa leaves him with a tight, hollow feeling in his chest that aches the more he thinks of it.)

Oikawa will come back. Hajime _knows_ he will.

It's not long before something strange begins to happen. The storm had been getting progressively worse throughout the night; Hajime had thought he heard stones outside the cave shifting from the relentless wind and waves. Suddenly the sound of crumbling grows more pronounced; he feels the sand shift under his feet, the water in the cave pool sloshing violently. On instinct he reaches out for the cave wall, but draws back when he realizes the cool stone is _shaking_.

It's an earthquake.

Hajime hasn't seen a sizable earthquake since his childhood but the image of his decimated village stuck in his mind. Earthquakes weren't the problem for the little sea-side village -- the problem was always the tsunami that followed.

He tries his best to back away from the walls of the cave, but it was too dark to be certain he’s safe. Rocks crumble from the ceiling, hitting the sand dully all around them. He drops to his knees, hunching over and covering his head with his hands; it will do little to help him, but it provides some degree of protection from the disintegrating ceiling.

All too suddenly, the rumbling of the rocks stops. For one numb moment he thinks he's safe; and then he hears gurgling from the water. On hands and knees, he crawls to where the edge of the pool should be, but all he feels is wet sand beneath his palms. Hajime scrambles away from the retreating water, stumbling over the fallen rocks until his back hit the opposite wall of the cave. He waits until the sound of draining water has stopped and then strains to hear what follows. He knows what to listen for; he’s praying to all the gods he’s ever heard of that he won’t hear it.

Sure enough, it’s not long before he hears the dull rumble of the waves. Hajime closes his eyes, curling up as tightly as he can and bracing himself. Besides his own safety, there is but a single thought in his mind, and it is of him.

 _Oikawa._ Oikawa all alone out in the water, struggling not to exhaust himself as he fights against being swept away. Oikawa, caught up in the wave. Oikawa, sent hundreds of feet in the air only to crash down upon the shore in a torrent of destruction. Oikawa, Oikawa, _Oikawa._

The rumble quickly turns to a roar, and before he knows it a deafening crack sounds against the rocks. The sound of the rain is drowned out entirely in favor of seawater spraying through the holes in the ceiling and the newly formed cracks from the quake or wave impact. The only sound that isn't muted by the water engulfing the rock is the scream of stone against stone as the rock shifts, struggling to stay intact. It’s impossible. The cave is not strong enough, the wave is too powerful. Everything is a torrent of noise and chaos, water leaking through every crack in Hajime’s crumbling sanctuary as the tsunami howls around him. Rocks begin to crumble down on top of his head, and Hajime unwillingly lets out a strangled yell.

The world seems to scream.

* * *

The water is peaceful -- or maybe it's just in Hajime’s head. Everything seems hazy at this point, a combination of shock and exhaustion leaving him feeling more like he's floating instead of swimming. He's been treading water for hours in the exact same spot; clinging to the remnants of rock that had been his sanctuary once upon a time, hoping and praying for the familiar flash of a teal fin. Dark eyes peering out at him from the water, pale skin and scaly freckles dusted across his face…

Oikawa isn't dead. This is the certainty he clings to above all else. Oikawa isn't dead, and soon he will come for him.

A soft noise of pain escapes him as he feels his leg cramp up again. He's been swimming for far too long; eventually he knows he’s just going to pass out in the water, clinging to what’s left of the rocks. Then there’s a chance he will never wake again.

He needs to stay awake until Oikawa gets there.

Consciousness fades slowly, in and out, ebbing and flowing like the tide. He watches the sun rise in the sky, lighting up the world to reveal open water on all sides of him. He closes his eyes and finds them hard to open again; he roasts under the mid-morning sun, and longs for the sound of bell-like laughter.

He needs to stay awake.

His eyes slip closed again, and he gets a mouthful of seawater. He coughs and sputters, the shock making him cling tighter to the rock. Whatever happens, he will not let Oikawa come back to find him drowned.

Morning passes into afternoon, and there is no sign of a shining silvery tail. Staying awake is growing harder by the minute. Hajime’s body feels heavy; treading water is growing impossible, his legs not cooperating when his brain tells him to kick.

_Stay awake..._

He hears a splash.

“Iwa-chan?”

There’s a shrill, panicked pitch to the voice. Hajime tries to call out, but his throat is dry and scrubbed raw. He doesn't even know what words he could say, if he had the ability.

Swimming back and forth in the open water, Oikawa does not see him. “Iwa-chan!” he cries again, voice raw with terror. “Where are you? _Iwa-chan!”_

“Oikawa…”

His voice is no more than a whisper, but somehow Oikawa hears him. A head snaps towards him; the next thing he knows, strong arms are lifting him up, balancing him on the rock and finally allowing him to stop swimming. Damp hands brush soaked hair away from his face, fingers trace the salt on his lips, and it takes his delirious mind a moment to realize that Oikawa is sobbing.

“Oi -- Oikawa…”

“I thought I lost you,” the spirit hiccups pitifully, tears blending with the seawater on his cheeks. “Th- thought I lost… oh, _Iwa-chan…”_

“Hey, it's okay.” Hajime brings a trembling hand up to cup Oikawa’s cheek in his own. “I'm right here. Where the hell would I go?” Oikawa blinks at him, dark eyes wide; Hajime imagines he can see traces of stars dancing in the irises. “I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you. If I did, you'd cry… and who wants that, huh? You're an ugly crier…”

Oikawa doesn't seem offended; instead, his hand comes up to cup Hajime’s face in turn, pulling him close enough that Hajime can smell the salt on his breath. Oikawa’s skin is cool, but his eyes smolder as they bore into him; Hajime feels a shiver run down his spine.

“I understand now,” Oikawa whispers, and the next thing Hajime knows lips are pressed firmly to his.

Oikawa tastes like the sea, salt and foam and something unidentifiable my sweet that he suspects is all Oikawa. His hands are calloused and strong; his grip is firm; and he holds Hajime close with a strength the other boy cannot summon. Their lips move against one another in a fervid rhythm, and when Oikawa finally pulls away his pupils are dilated wide and black. This time, Hajime knows he sees stars.

“I understand,” Oikawa says again, and he smiles.

* * *

The pair float in the open ocean. Hajime glides on his back with Oikawa below him, hands gripping his shoulders and towing both of them through the water with powerful strokes of his tail. The small waves lapping at his shoulders do well to soothe the peeling burns there. It's not long before he feels himself drifting off to sleep again; he's slept more than once since this ordeal began, and knows he's not fully rested yet.

He cranes his neck to look at Oikawa, whose own eyes are beginning to droop, movements in the water growing heavier and more sluggish. He's been swimming since dawn; now, at twilight, he hasn't stopped for more than a few minutes at a time. His energy is failing on him in the same way Hajime’s is. There’s no chance they’ll make it to land before nightfall; they have no choice but to rest.

With a slight kick, Hajime manages to wiggle out of Oikawa's grip. The spirit blinks at him with dark eyes full of confusion until Hajime brandishes a rope he's been holding onto. Oikawa had retrieved the netting from the bottom of the flooded cave for them to anchor themselves if they needed to sleep. It's been indescribably handy this far, with Hajime still dazed and Oikawa nearing his own point of exhaustion.

Deft hands tie one end around his ankle; but before he can disappear underwater with the other end Oikawa scans the seemingly calm waters. When he turns back to Hajime, his voice is low and serious.

“Be careful,” he whispers into the darkness before heading down into the black waters. Now it's Hajime who can't help but feel nervous. He's never seen Oikawa this uneasy, and it only brings him to wonder what could possibly scare a water spirit as powerful as him -- one capable of coaxing rainstorms into existence and summoning earthquakes out of untempered jealousy.

The sun has sunk low in the sky when Oikawa finally returns. A relieved smile sweeps over his face when he finds Hajime right where he left him. Hajime can't help but wonder where Oikawa thinks he would _go_ \-- are there really dangers in these waters, or is it possible Oikawa is just terrified of him leaving?

The pair floats languidly upon the water's surface, watched the last vestiges of daylight die. As twilight colors paint a picture across the sky, Hajime names them; while he smirks as Oikawa’s clumsy echoing, he helps the spirit pronounce them all the same.

He isn't sure when their hands find each other's, but his fingers slot neatly between Oikawa’s own. After darkness falls they lie in silence for a while; Hajime is just starting to drift off before Oikawa turns to him.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Hm?”

“What's this?” He asked, his free hand moving to the center of his torso.

“That's your _chest_ , stupid.”

“No, not that!” Hajime can hear the frustration starting to bleed through into Oikawa's voice. “Sometimes it's here --” He points to his stomach. “But most times it’s here.” His palm comes to rest over his heart. “Feels heavy, and warm. It can hurt -- don't feel it often, not for a long time. It feels like… like home.”

Is Oikawa blushing? In the dim light it is near-impossible to tell, but Hajime would swear on his life that a flush colors the spirit’s cheeks. It takes all of his effort not to laugh, and he loses the battle anyway.

“Love,” Hajime replies. “It's called love.”

Oikawa smiles wide and Hajime feels his own heart soar. Gruffly, he clears his throat, fighting to keep a mirroring grin off his own face. It hard, when his body suddenly feels so much lighter, as if he could soar out of the sea and fly at any moment.

“You feel it for other people, people that you care about. You feel it for the people you care most about in the entire world. Someone you'd do anything for.”

“Then I love you Iwa-chan!” Oikawa replies without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to the other boy’s cheek. Hajime’s lungs feel frozen in his chest, but somehow he's breathing fine anyway.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and Oikawa’s eyes gleam bright in the dim ocean light. The truth of the words settle heavily in Hajime’s chest, but he doesn't feel like he's sinking at all. He's floating, hand entwined with another, and he can never sink as long as Oikawa is holding him.

* * *

When Hajime awakes, the sky is still dark; stars twinkle a hypnotizing dance against the inky night sky. Looking up from the open water, he finds himself transfixed. In his sleepy, half awake state, it is easy to imagine he sees pictures in the stars, old stories and ancient songs just on the cusp of his memory. For a long time he drifts between sleep and wakefulness. There is no reason for him not to be sleeping, and he needs the rest; but in the back of his mind, the nagging sensation that something isn’t right keeps him from drifting off completely.

As soon as it dawns on him that Oikawa is no longer holding his hand, he finds himself wide awake. Bolting upright, there is a brief moment of panic as he strains his eyes in the dark waters to locate Oikawa; then, he spots him.

Instead of floating by his side, the pale boy swims in below the water tight circles around Hajime. Occasionally he pops up to seemingly scour the surface; the majority of his time is spent keeping tense vigil below the waves. The next time he surfaces, Hajime manages to catch him by the shoulder

“Hey, are you --”

“No moving!” Oikawa interrupts with a guttural hiss before smacking Hajime's hand away. _“Stay.”_ He continues to circle around him, but now his head stays above water. Every so often he brushes up against Hajime, a quick swish of tail against his legs, just to reassure him. It does little to absolve the tension hanging thick in the air around them.

“What's happening?” Hajime asks.

“Nothing. No moving.” He keeps fidgeting and swimming, ducking under Hajime one moment and popping up on the other side of him the next. He is undiluted energy buzzing around Hajime, his body taut with tension, and Hajime feels fear well up in his chest. What could have Oikawa this on edge?

“ _Something_ is obviously happening, so don’t give me that. What is it?”

Oikawa stills. Hajime’s eyes linger on him, wide and frightened, even as the water spirit refuses to meet his gaze.

“Something _else_ is here. The deep ocean is dangerous for me, too dangerous for humans. Not… not safe.” Oikawa snatches Hajime's hand and holds it close to his chest. They linger this way for a moment -- Hajime unmoving, Oikawa clutching him tightly -- before the spirit takes several deep breaths and lets Hajime go, resuming his patrol.

Stunned, Hajime can do little but watch. Fear sits cold and heavy in his stomach. _There is something out here that scares Oikawa._ Oikawa isn’t just frightened; he is terrified, back tense and ready for a fight. There is an invisible predator in the water that Hajime cannot see, and he is helpless.

If there’s one thing Iwaizumi Hajime can’t stand, it’s being helpless.

Floating on his back, Hajime's ears are partly submerged beneath the waves. This is how he hears it; a rumble he can feel reverberating in his chest, accompanied by a sharp clicking noise he can only compare to dolphin calls. They sound louder, though -- coming from a much larger creature. Could Oikawa really be so worried about a few whales?

Tilting his head back further into the water he picks up the baritone howl of what he assumed to be an older whale, interspersed with higher pitched whistles which are probably calves. Oikawa hisses and bares his teeth before ducking back down beneath the black waves. Hajime can feel the reverberations in the water as Oikawa dives to depths unknown. Entire body tense as he suddenly finds himself alone, he listens to the creatures approach. Their calls grow louder and more frequent, dispersing all around him; a pod of whales, he knows, would probably be going off to hunt.

_Hunt what?_

A shrill screech shocks him from his contemplatory haze, but Oikawa's warning keeps him paralyzed. The creatures respond with harsh cries of their own; they don't sound quite the same as the first. The cries come from all sides of him, spread throughout the water all around him, and Hajime realizes with a start that he is utterly surrounded.

The shrieking begins to devolve into a shrill scream. A fireflash of pain bursts in his eardrums, and Hajime lets out a cry as he thrashes, jerking his head up and clamping both hands on his pained ears. His ears feel like they’re bleeding; he knows they aren’t, but his face contorts in pain anyway, and he can’t bring himself to put his head below the water again. For a long moment, everything is silent.

Without warning Hajime feels _bubbles_ curl up his languidly kicking legs, caressing his spine as they move upwards. The sound of the air releasing to the surface disguises the sound of something breaking through the water. Hajime turns his head by chance; only then does he see the silhouette of his friend, indistinguishable in the pitch darkness.

“Oikawa, are you okay? What the hell was that?”

His questions go unanswered as Oikawa drifts closer. Closer and closer, it becomes easy for Hajime to spot irregularities he had not noticed before: the scales along the bridge of Oikawa’s nose have vanished; he must have smoothed his hair in a strange way because his head looks _bigger_ somehow.

Hajime finds himself growing frustrated -- _angry_ \-- at the silence. First Oikawa scares the hell out of him, and now he won’t say a word?

“Come on you creepy bastard, say something!”

He shoots a quick splash at the silhouette. The Oikawa he knows would shout, cringe away, or even splash back. Instead a hand as cold as death grips his wrist and yanks him close.

The rest of the massive body rises up out of the water and Hajime's stomach leaps into his throat. This is definitely _not_ Oikawa. Sharp claws dig into his wrist and the creature lets out a shriek that Hajime recognizes as one that came from the things underwater. They hadn’t been whales at all. It had been this thing.

As the shriek increases in volume a fierce blue glow illuminates the creature’s chest -- like someone lit a torch behind its’ ribs. Enough light is being made so that Hajime can see the face of his attacker, but he regrets it the second he looks up. The monster’s head is crested by a bony ridge that rises out of the forehead and continues to the nape of the neck. Translucent skin is pulled taut over what seems to be nothing more than bone. It’s eyes are easily twice as large as Oikawa's, inky black and depthless. If Hajime had thought Oikawa's teeth were foreboding, the monster’s teeth are a whole new level of terror. Multiple rows of dagger-like fangs jolt from a wide-open mouth -- a mouth moving towards him _fast_.

Hajime snaps out of his paralysis, using his free hand to swing at the monster's head. He hits it hard, jarring his attacker away and disrupting its terrifying display. His other wrist is still trapped, and as the beast is knocked back Hajime goes with him. In an instant he is in fight mode, kicking and thrashing with the frantic strength only available to those who fear for their lives. The monster is heavier than he is, stronger and more brutal; it gets Hajime pinned beneath the waves, the full force of its body on top of him as he goes for his throat.

Hajime swings an arm up, decking the monster across the face. A thousand needles sink into the muscle of his arm, and he screams.

His mouth floods with water, and in an instant he is thrashing again. Somehow he manages to wriggle his way back to the surface, but his side is on fire and his arm burns from sea salt in his wound. His good hand finds its way to his pain-seared side; it comes away dripping red. With a jolt, he realizes he's just been _bitten_.

He presses a hand against where a substantial chunk of flesh is missing from his torso. That is a bad thing -- blood is seeping out fast, and suddenly breathing seems a lot harder. He wants to swim away from that demon, but his ankle is tied to the rope, anchoring him to some stone however many leagues below. He is trapped.

A spray of water splashes across his back. Hajime turns to see the chest of the creature leaking glowing fluid from massive gashes in its side; the light from his chest has vanished, something covering up the glow. It takes too long for him to realize it is Oikawa wrestling with the monster, his scaled tail constricting around the thing’s bony chest and his nails gouging deep into it’s fragile skin.

Desperately searching for the glowing scales on Oikawa's face, he finds them buried in the fleshy part of the creature’s neck. The two sea spirits wrestle together, shrill screams and weighted splashes shattering the silence of open water. It thing is stronger than Oikawa; but he is faster, and smarter. He is ruthless.

It doesn't take long for Oikawa to get the upper hand, pinning the beast beneath him. His claws dig into its skin, preventing it from making an escape. The pale boy’s back arches; Hajime watches in horror as Oikawa, his Oikawa, lunges forward and sinks jagged teeth into the monster’s neck. He rears back, pulling the throat of the creature with him. The flesh snaps with a harsh sound, and the glowing viscera is spit a meter away by the now feral-looking spirit. Hajime can just make out the panting silhouette, luminescent liquid dripping from his chin and running down his chest. Oikawa’s eyes glow a bright, vibrant turquoise. For the first time Hajime understands how Oikawa might be called a monster.

Oikawa watches the corpse into the deep below him for a long moment, looking unmoved. Then his gaze snaps up, locking on Hajime. The human’s heart leaps in his chest at the feral look in his savior’s eyes.

Then slowly, slowly, the monster fades out of him, leaving behind only the Oikawa he knows. “Iwa-chan?” he asks between heaving breaths. Iwaizumi manages a pained sound.

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa moves lightning-fast; in an instant he is at Hajime’s side, desperately washing the blood smeared across his own face. Hajime cringes back, but Oikawa is all that’s left of the devil from before. He reaches out, cooing his name and hushing him as he pulls Hajime close.

Nails dig once more into the injured boy’s wrist as Oikawa tries to peel his hand from the wound. Tossing his head back against Oikawa's shoulder, Hajime lets out a strangled cry of pain. Oikawa instantly withdraws, instead pressing desperate kisses to his shoulder and working up his neck until Hajime's labored gasping begins to even out.

Oikawa’s own breaths are frantic and trembling; he clings to Hajime’s body as if he can somehow will the blood to stop pouring from the open wound. Hajime lets out a groan at new pressure against his injury, writhing. An equally distressed cry tears from Oikawa’s lips.

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry -- Iwa-chan will be okay, don't die, _please_ , don't die…”

The idiot is begging him, as if dying is something Hajime has on his agenda today; as if he can make to choice to live or not to with as much ease as deciding what to have for dinner. Glistening tears run down Oikawa’s cheeks and drip to Hajime’s chest, standing out from the rest of the water by the way they shine. They shine like stars, Hajime thinks dimly, and the thought is enough to make him chuckle.

“Don’t laugh!” Oikawa cries as more blood gurgles from the wound. Hajime can feel it, sticky liquid flowing down his side and probably painting Oikawa’s hands crimson as it flows into the ocean.

It should hurt, he supposes. It doesn’t. He can’t feel anything at all.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa whispers again, lips pressed to Hajime’s ear as if desperate to feel the warmth in his body while it remains. “I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

Hours trickle by, sluggish eternities; water dripping from a broken pipe, sand running down in an hourglass. The pair struggle on with the desperate hope of finding land; Oikawa is the driving force behind their movements, where Hajime can barely haul himself into an upright position. His energy is draining fast, leaving his limbs heavy and feet unable to kick in the water as a lethal sluggishness overtakes him.

Eventually, neither of them can go on. Hajime is in too much pain, and Oikawa can no longer bear his agonized moans.

“I can fix it,” Oikawa mutters manically, the water around them beginning to grow choppy as he hovers his hands over Hajime’s injury. The skin seems to prickle, electrified by a thousand tiny currents; but the blood continues to flow, and the skin does not knit itself shut. Oikawa lets out a loud wail, and thunder crashes overhead.

“Stop that, dumbass, you're going to --” Hajime grunts, struggling against the pain of his injury. “Get us both killed!”

Oikawa is a powerful water sorcerer. He can harness waves, control the sea, summon thunderstorms and earthquakes. He can defeat monsters twice his size. He can heal his own injuries easily.

But his magic doesn't work on Hajime. He can't save a human, even if he wants nothing more in the entire world.

Hajime can't remember when Oikawa starts humming, but the importance of the question fades. Many things are beginning to fade, now; he knows he's lost a lot of blood, and every second causes more to leak into the sea. Floating in the cradle of Oikawa’s arms, songs ebb and flow over him; haunting melodies that occasionally melt in and out of songs with soaring vocals. It's entrancing; it numbs Hajime’s mind, makes him feel sleepy and content and far less afraid than he knows he ought to be. Oikawa is singing, he realizes, for his benefit.

Hajime finds himself stuck between trying to decide which was more beautiful: Oikawa's singing or his laughter. It has to be his laugh, he reasons after a long moment of deliberation -- giggly and bell-like and totally _his._ His, Oikawa’s, so indescribably _Oikawa_. Hajime has never known anyone like him; he has known Oikawa, in a way, his entire life.

Dawn is creeping across the sky, drenching them both in warm orange light. They've barely rested since the attack. Now, floating aimlessly on the pillow of Oikawa’s arms and his song, Hajime feels his eyelids growing heavy.

The song breaks off.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sounds close to tears. A sharp splash to his face had Hajime spluttering, eyes opening wide once more. “Stay awake! Don't sleep!”

Oikawa is slowing down too, Hajime knows. If he had the energy, he would still be swimming for shore, in a desperate attempt to save Hajime’s life. Oikawa hasn't slept since the tsunami; he's swim for miles, nearly lost a fight against a sea monster, and now he's struggling to stay afloat while cradling a severely wounded human in his arms.

None of this is fair on Oikawa, either. Hajime might be injured, but Oikawa has it worse -- he's just so desperate to save him, even as he bleeds out in his arms.

“Iwa-chan!”

A small splash to Oikawa’s own face takes him aback, makes his weakening arms waver. “Who told you…” Hajime manages, “that you should stop singing?”

For a long moment there is silence; and then Oikawa’s voice picks up again, tremulous but no less beautiful for the fear and sorrow that linger beneath each syllable. Hajime closes his eyes and zeroes in on the voice, trying desperately to stay awake.

Oikawa will carry him forever. He'll carry him until his arms are useless; then he'll sling Hajime over his back, toting him along in a desperate effort to reach shore. By the time they reach it -- if they ever do -- Hajime will be long since dead. Oikawa will haul Hajime up on land he same way he must have when saving him from drowning that first night, caress Hajime’s head in his lap, run fingers through his hair, and softly plead for him to wake up.

Oikawa will not want to be alone anymore. Oikawa will not leave him; he will stay with Hajime’s corpse, on land or in the sea, until death comes to take him as well.

Oikawa deserves so much better than that.

It is in the mournful silence between one melody and another that Hajime’s eyes suddenly open again, wide and feverishly desperate. “You have to do it.”

Oikawa’s next song dies on his lips. He looks down at Hajime, baffled and frightened.

“Do what, Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa knows. The turn of his mouth is too grim, his gaze is too sharp, the tears glistening on his cheeks run one after the other. He knows exactly what he has to do.

“I think maybe… I wasn't supposed to survive,” Hajime rasps, voice so quiet that Oikawa has to lean in to hear. “Not the first time, or the time with the boom, or... any of the other times I would have died but didn't. I think it was supposed to be this way all along.”

“No…” Hot tears drop onto his collarbones. Oikawa’s hair glows auburn in the warm dawn light, and even crying Hajime thinks he's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“You were always there to save me… but you can't die with me, Oikawa. You have to let go.”

“I -- I _can't,”_ the spirit hiccups, pitiful in his despair. “Don't have anyone else… only Iwa-chan. It was always Iwa-chan…”

“And you were always there… for me.” His own throat feels a little tight. “Let me go, Oikawa.”

“B- but--”

Oikawa stumbles with his protests; there is nothing, he realizes, that he can say to change the situation. He cannot save Hajime; he can only save himself. He needs to let go.

“I love you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers. Hajime tastes his lips on his -- salt and brine, incongruous vanilla, the taste he's come to so associate with Oikawa. Their lips move against each other in a gentle tandem before, lightly, Oikawa breaks away.

“I know,” Hajime says, even as he feels the arms under him begin to drop away. Oikawa pulls from him slowly, then all at once; in seconds the water closes over Hajime’s head, leaving him breathless, voiceless, and without an ounce of fight left.

Hajime sinks down; down, down, into the darkest depths of the sea that will swallow up his body until the end of time. The last rush of air leaves his lungs at once. He vanishes into the obscurity of the deep.

Left alone at what seems like the top of the world while his other half sinks to the bottom, thunder ripples over Oikawa’s head. A torrent of rain begins to pour down, relentless and unceasing. The shrill wail of agony that rings out over the gale is audible even from the nearest land, a hundred miles away.

Oikawa does not notice the speck of silver that slowly ascends from the blackness. He does not feel the ripple of water, the soft clicks as a creature of the deep maps the world around him for the very first time. He does not see the silver tail, powerful and sleek, pushing the spirit up to the surface. He does not hear the sound of a figure emerging behind him.

He feels it when he’s spun around, and suddenly warm, fervent lips are pressed to his. On instinct, he melts into the familiar embrace; rough fingernails dig into his shoulders, calloused hands caress his skin, and when they finally break away Hajime is grinning at him.

Deep in Hajime’s memory, maybe echoes linger from his grandmother’s old tales; stories of humans beloved by the sea, embraced by a sea spirit, dying amongst the waves and surf. Maybe they evaporated into the air. Maybe the disintegrated into sea foam. Maybe the vanished to the bottom of the ocean.

Maybe they emerged from the sea, born again. Who knows? The powers of the ocean gods, after all, can be very fickle.

“I love you too,” Hajime says, voice overflowing with the warmth reflected back in Oikawa’s eyes, “idiot.”


End file.
